Who Taj and Andy Where the roof of a random vacant farmhouse in the country side What Taj called and Andy heeded When Wednesday early evening? Warnings TBD
Moving out (technically from Taj's, but from all of them really) had been about as terrible an idea as Andy had expected. He couldn't sleep in his new place and had taken up smoking to pass the time from late night to the cold dawn; his appearance didn't hide this, sleeplessness giving him that wax model look that happens, his eyes punched out holes where dark circles ringed them, not bruises for once. He didn't really spend much time there, working almost every hour he could get away with at Dana's club or the closest Macdonalds - he was pretty sure they were going to fire him soon for the amount of times he'd fallen into a doze at awkward times. He wouldn't cry about it.
He'd been trying to keep distance between himself and Taj, hadn't intervened as much as possible and had basically tried to give Taj the break from him that he needed while also trying to fortify the walls around his own tattered scrap of muscle that he called a heart.
It hadn't worked. If anything, absence made his heart hurt deeper, bleeding with misery and lack of sleep. He'd started walking back to Taj's a lot in the first few days, and it was only remembering Taj saying he was leaving and recalling that he was crushing the life from his brother that made him stop. It was better, right, this independent thing. He remembered as well, the thing that he'd been doing to Taj that he still didn't really understand but didn't really need to know he was no good around Taj. He'd fought with his ongoing depression as much as he'd smoked, insomnia not letting him rest but instead letting his mind come up with crazy thoughts. There had been no more suicide attempts yet though, and he was counting that as a win.
He didn't know why Taj had left the house (where he didn't, didn't belong, didn't feel right there anymore) but it hardly mattered. What mattered was that Taj needed him, now, and Andy couldn't deny that particular plea.
He'd hopped a bus out but had to walk to the house; he appeared coming over the horizon, a dot in the fields that grew bigger, the grass underfoot swishing back into place as though he'd never stepped there, almost moving from his way as he walked through, soundless in his approach. He reached the house and looked up, expecting Taj to be up on the tiles and knowing he must have been seen coming.